


The Second Bloom

by DeyaAmaya



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Romance, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 14:40:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19378768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeyaAmaya/pseuds/DeyaAmaya
Summary: Malnutrition has made his skin sallow, taut over his bones. It would've made anyone look like a skeleton, but not Malfoy. Harry thinks he looks like a tree, a tall one, denuded by winter's icy gusts, just waiting for spring to bloom again.





	The Second Bloom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wishopenastar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wishopenastar/gifts).



> Written for darling Ariana, sorry it took me so so so long. Edited with tremendous love and patience by Seductresses_Temple. This happens to be my first, tentative step into writing Drarry. Comments and crit greatly appreciated.

**Harry**

 

The train ride to Hogwarts was different this time, Harry thought.

 

Maybe because it was his first time getting back to Hogwarts after the war. Maybe because he didn’t have Hedwig by his side. Maybe because he still hadn't shaken off the shock of being on the receiving end of a killing curse, again.

 

Or maybe, maybe it was the whispers pouring like poison, like  Parseltongue down his ears, at once familiar and alien. 

 

The whispers came from all sides, from every doorway and nook. They were talking about him, about Hermione, Ron, Neville, Luna, and Seamus, about the school. Most of all they were about  _ him.  _

 

_ Who let the baby Death Eater in?  _ They asked.

 

_ I hear the Aurors dumped him on the train, just like that,  _ says another.

 

_ Look at those filthy robes,  _ they said _ , that dirty hair. _

 

_ Serves him right,  _ says another. 

 

There's really no question who they were talking about. Harry had seen it all, seen a whole squadron of aurors arrive with Draco Malfoy via portkey, right on Platform 9 ¾. They'd laughed and shoved the boy, still wearing Azkaban robes, on the train. Malfoy's protests of  _ But I have nothing to wear, I need books  _ and  _ where's my wand  _ fell on deaf ears as the aurors apparated out, leaving a visibly shaken, staggering Malfoy behind. He'd then sat inside the first carriage he could find. No one shared it with him, not even the Slytherins from their year.  __

 

Harry knew Malfoy wouldn’t leave that compartment, wouldn’t go seeking his friends, wouldn’t look for help, and if anyone offered he would glare at them till they went away. And if he was under attack, he would be helpless. Harry could imagine all of it, vividly.

 

He carefully slid out from between Ron and Hermione, both asleep. Seamus, Dean and Neville were asleep on the other seat. Night had just fallen and the weather was cozy, perfect for catching a few winks. Harry envied them a little. Sleep had all but deserted him since… Well, since.     

 

He walks towards Malfoy's compartment. The train is sleepy, mostly little pinpricks of laughter punches through, here and there. Ginny smiles and waves at him from one. He smiles back but keeps walking.

 

Malfoy's compartment is quiet and dim. The lights flickering on and off. The boy is asleep, curled into his tattered robes in a corner. Seeing him through the dusty window, Harry remembers finding Remus in almost the same position, decades ago.

 

Or was it just years?      

 

Malfoy stirs at the creak of the door sliding open. Upon seeing Harry, his first instinct is to reach for his wand and fumble at its absence. He grits his teeth in frustration, but does not look away.

 

Harry takes in his long, lank hair, unwashed for who knows how long.  The robes are just as dirty, almost drowning Draco's bony frame. Malnutrition has made his skin sallow, taut over his bones. It would've made anyone look like a skeleton, but not Malfoy. Harry thinks he looks like a tree, a tall one, denuded by winter's icy gusts, just waiting for spring to bloom again.

 

‘Sleep’, he tells Malfoy. ‘You look horrible.’

 

He expects Malfoy to bristle at the comment, maybe even threaten him bodily harm. But he doesn’t protest, doesn’t even speak. He stares at Harry for a long moment before wrapping himself further into his clothes and closing his eyes.

 

Harry is left on his own, watching over Malfoy. He could kill the defenceless boy, and he has all the motives. And yet, he has been rewarded with trust and vulnerability.

 

Harry is grateful and humbled.  

 

\-----------

 

**Ron**

 

It's sixth year all over again. More intense, even. Because Harry isn’t just stalking Malfoy this time, he's actually trying to  _ get along _ with the git.

 

Ron feels peculiar about this. Not quite angry or disappointed, but not happy about it either. He's more bewildered than anything at how Harry seemed to have attached himself to the slimy Slytherin. Malfoy had nothing, absolutely nothing when he got back to Hogwarts for their ‘Eighth Year’ of magical education. Harry was the one who managed to find him robes (Neville's spare set), books and parchment (Borrowed from the library) and other little effects from Harry's own supply, or Ron's, or Hermione's, or Luna's.

 

And Ron hates Malfoy, he really does. Bill will forever be scarred because of him. But this, this broken, beaten Malfoy is someone he can't bring himself to hate. Harry was right, he looks stretched and drooped like a skinny tree overburdened with moss. Who can hate that? In the place of hate, there's a grudging pity and just a little bit of acceptance. The war has scarred them all. Why discriminate? 

 

So he swallows his protest when he finds Harry teaming up with Malfoy in Potions, tugging him to eat at the Gryffindor table or even including him in their group of three to do homework. Hermione had no objections to it. And miracle of miracles, Malfoy has no objections either.

 

Like right now, they're all sitting around the fireplace in the eighth year common room. Hermione is the only one actually studying still. Ron is sleepy, leaning against a sofa. The same sofa where Draco and Harry are both asleep on, practically atop each other.    

 

Hermione yawns and follows Ron's gaze to the two, eyes widening. Then she smiles, mischievous.

 

‘It's good,’ she whispers. ‘He's sleeping so peacefully, Ron.’

 

And he's astonished to realize that yes, Harry really  _ is  _ sleeping a lot better since he's befriended the ferret. 

 

And isn’t that a wonder?        

 

\--------------

 

**Tilly**

 

The rooms need a cleaning. Yes, Tilly will be doing it right away. But first Tilly will see to it that the young masters and mistresses are alright.

 

Tilly is in charge of the New Tower, the one thrown together in a hurry to house the Eighth year students. They look hardly older than the seventh years but Tilly can see the dark shadow chasing each and every one of them. And it is Tilly's job to drive it away. So Tilly will go and put vials of Dreamless sleep in seven bedrooms, two in each, one for each occupant. She will carefully make sure Master Malfoy's clothes are softer after laundering, as stiff clothing is more painful on his scars. She will replenish Miss Brown's chocolate stash so she is never left without it. Tilly will remind one of the kitchen elves to stay awake so Master Harry can ask someone for food after midnight, when he's the most hungry. And then…

 

And  _ then _ will Tilly clean the tower.  

 

\---------------

 

**Draco**

 

The wind whips against my face and I blink, my eyes unfocusing.

 

There is a long stretch of nothing in front of me.

 

No. Not nothing. Just darkness.

 

I keep looking, not daring to move a muscle. My eyes slowly got used to the darkness and I can see the outline of the forbidden forest, the sky glittering right above, in front of me, as far as I can see. Beneath my feet (why am I barefoot?) I feel the edge of stone cutting into my soles. My toes hang in the air. 

 

Panic, blind, fervent panic creeps up my lethargic mind. I desperately try to remember the walk up here.

 

(There's no question where 'here' is. The Astronomy Tower. The sole unchanging witness to my biggest sin. Will I ever outrun the memory of that night?)

 

But as much as I flounder in my mind I cannot remember. I'd fallen into a fitful sleep in the dorm room I share with Potter. There was a nightmare, like every other night, the oily remnants of horror still clung to the edges of my thoughts but no, I don’t remember waking, or walking, or performing any feat that could lead me up here, when I've been avoiding even looking at this place for months.       

 

As I struggle to find an answer, I also struggle to stay still. The wind is trying to imbalance me, push me off the edge and for a second, just a second-

 

'Draco!'

 

The call reaches my ears through the shrieking gusts, faint and distorted. I hear footsteps. A moment later, steady fingers grab at my arms, inching me back from the edge.

 

He is close. His body burns like a furnace against my back. I can hear his labored breathing, he must've run up the staircase. I wonder, if I were to turn my head, would he look angry, would he look disgruntled at having to save me again (and again)?

 

As soon as I'm safely away from the edge, from the treacherous wind, his arms wrap around me like a vice, his heartbeat thrumming against my shoulder blades and what does he think he is doing to me?

 

He buries his face into the side of my neck, warm breath puffing down to my collarbones, and it is against his scorching heat is when I find the rest of me is freezing, with nothing but my flimsy nightclothes to ward off the chills.

 

His lips open against my skin and I can't help shivering. Here comes the yelling, I think, resigned to it.

 

'Come back,' he says, voice barely a whisper, followed swiftly by a kiss, right against my pulse.

 

Dazed, stunned out of my mind, I let him pull away and latch onto my wrist, tugging me gently down the stairs, back into the warmth of the castle, towards our shared dorm.

 

Away from the doom, the precipice that I was walking to.

 

\-------------

 

**Hermione**

 

There's SO much left to do! All the week's homework needs to be revised, not to mention the additional books that she needs to finish for NEWTS, and the internship applications that are so, so important and yet, Hermione can't help looking at the spectacle unfolding right in front of her. There is Malfoy and Luna, studying together, or rather, Malfoy trying to make notes out of a large tome on DADA and Luna badgering him about Nargles or something similar, Hermione can't be bothered to remember. What catches her interest is that Malfoy tolerates her company without any complain or even a frown. It's almost as if he enjoys her inane prattle.

 

Hermione thinks back to the image of Malfoy in her memories, the absolute insufferable git that he was, how Hermione always felt a bitterness churning in her gut whenever he was in the vicinity. That changed after the war, though, but he isn’t even the lost, soulless creature that had ridden to Hogwarts for the Eighth year, no. The Malfoy in front of him is softer, gentler, he even has a smile now, one that isn’t mocking or superior in any way, one that almost makes him look human.

 

Looking at him now, Hermione finally, finally lets go of the past Malfoy. Luna has left, and Malfoy is back to studying. In about half an hour, Ron will come to collect her for lunch, and Harry will come to collect  _ Draco _ . Malfoy's soft smile will turn into something softer, more private at seeing Harry.

 

And with a jolt of surprise at herself, Hermione finds she doesn’t mind that thought at all.       

 

\----------

 

**Harry**

 

Harry stopped in his tracks the moment he spots Draco's bloodshot eyes. It was evident that he'd just stopped crying. 

 

He'd just been away for five minutes. After getting settled in the compartment with his trunk (that held both his and Draco's things) he'd asked Draco to wait there as he went to see where the others were, and he comes back to see him, crying.

 

Harry drops down next to him. Draco must've spotted the panic in him as he rushes to reassure Harry.

 

'It’s nothing. I'm fine. It’s just the damn train… I can't believe it’s the last time.'

 

He sniffs a little.

 

'This is the second time we're sitting together in the train,' there's mischief in his eyes. 'Aren’t you gonna say 'you look like shit' this time?'

 

Harry can think of a lot of things to say. He could say,  _ Hey, I know how it feels to take the Hogwarts Express for the last time _ . Or he could say,  _ I'm going to miss this, all of this _ . He could even say,  _ You don’t look like shit at all, you look like you’re one step away from a glorious bloom _ .

 

But Harry says nothing. He raises a shaking palm to cup Draco's face and watches the gray eyes dilate, pink flush spreading over nose and cheekbones as he leans in to steal a kiss. 

 

At the touch of petal soft lips, a barely contained gasp, Harry's heart stuttered. The Hogwarts Express lurched into motion. Harry thought of the words that had taken root in his heart, deep and strong, growing more with each day.

 

_ I love you. _

\---------


End file.
